“Blood-bone,” Bryan said.
Bob Andrews nodded grimly. “I’m usually home just about this time. Have an uncle in assisted living. I check up on him each morning and then come back and go to work. I’m a commercial artist—work right out of my house. My easel is there, by the window. I saw him. One of those Blood-bone things walking on down the street. First, I’m thinking we’re not all that far from a few of the theme parks. Then I’m remembering Cara Barton was murdered by a Blood-bone. Then I’m thinking he’s gone, and he hadn’t appeared to have had one of those swords, anyway. I heard all the sirens last night, and I came out and saw the commotion, and I knew, of course, it was Marnie Davante’s place. But...I didn’t think...until just now when I thought about how tall you are...”
“Thing is, Mr. Andrews, you did see a Blood-bone. And you’d be willing to tell that to the police?”
“I don’t know. I guess it could be dangerous for me. I mean, Cara Barton was murdered by someone in a costume like that. Now a man is dead—and I saw a Blood-bone just before it happened.”
“It didn’t occur to you to mention the Blood-bone to anyone else, even call the police and mention you’d seen someone dressed up that way?”
Bob Andrews shook his head.
“Should have. Just didn’t. And...well, honestly, I’m not sure about telling anybody. I kind of like to stay under the radar.”
“No one ever needs to know you saw this costumed figure, sir. Other than law enforcement.”
“I...uh... Sure. Use me or my name or whatever. Just so long as it’s only cops that know I said something. Or anything. I mean, right now, I’m just talking to a man walking his dog, you know?”
Bryan thanked him. “If anyone checks with you, it will be one of two detectives, Mr. Andrews. Detective Sophie Manning or Detective Grant Vining.”
“All right. I mean, I want to help. I’m just not a tough guy. I don’t want any trouble.”
“It’s all good. Thank you.”
George let out a woof; he was either in agreement or ready to move on.
Walking away from Bob Andrews’s house, Bryan pulled out his phone and called Grant Vining. “I’ve got something,” he said. “Neighbor saw a guy dressed up as Blood-bone walking around the neighborhood, right around the time our victim was killed at Marnie’s. I know you’re going to think I’m far-fetched on this, but since we are looking at a killer who was costumed, I still can’t help but think there is a possibility that whoever orchestrated the murder wasn’t pleased with his hired killer. I think the person who ordered the killing dressed up as Blood-bone and came out to kill the killer. I’m working on theory, I know. And you might find it ridiculous—even if someone did see a Blood-bone. But—”
“I’m not going to argue anything with you, McFadden,” Grant Vining told him, sounding weary. “Our prints gave us an ID on the dead man.”
“Oh? And?”
“His name was William Capello. He had a rap sheet a mile long—under Capello, his real name, and a half a dozen other names. He was acquitted in the murder of a Vegas showgirl as few years back. The jury never believed the burden of proof had been established. He was also suspected of a number of other murders. In every case when he was suspected of murder, he was suspected of being the finger man in a murder for hire.”
Bryan drew his phone from his ear and actually stared at it for a moment.
He’d been right.
But did it help him now?
A killer had killed a killer.
But had he done the deed himself?
Or hired a killer to kill a killer?
“And by the way,” Vining added. “This just became a joint task force.”
“Pardon?”
“Your FBI friends are in—joint task force, with a meeting tomorrow. So if I don’t see you before, I’ll see you then,” Vining said.
“Wait. I need you to—”
“Not to worry, McFadden. We’ll get some officers in uniform out in the neighborhood. We’ll see if we can find anyone who knows where our Blood-bone came from. Hell, maybe one of them even saw him shoot our victim and thought it was a show. Maybe one of them knows where Blood-bone went after.”
“Thanks, Vining.”
“We are good cops.”
“I know that.”
“Yeah. Well, here’s to a... Guess there is no such thing as a happy ending when people are already dead,” Vining said. “Here’s to a speedy solution.”
“With no more bodies.”
“Amen.”
George barked. It was almost as if the damned dog understood.
*
“I need you. We need you. Marnie, how could you have forgotten?”
Grayson Adair was on the phone, earnest—and desperate.
Marnie felt terrible. She had forgotten. Though how anyone could ask how she could have forgotten—under their current circumstances—was ridiculous, as well.
“I didn’t think you were still doing another comic con after what happened to Cara—”
“Marnie,” Grayson said. “It’s not a comic con. I keep telling you. It’s not. We wouldn’t be doing a comic con. But we’ve had this planned forever. Cara knew about it. She said you were definitely in.”
“Grayson, it is still a fan convention—”
“Horror-palooza. That’s completely different,” Grayson said.
“Grayson, it’s a—”
“Not just a fan convention, Marnie. I can’t believe you haven’t been to it before. Every fabricator in LA tries to get his or her work into this convention. The creatures, the makeup, the costumes—it’s all so amazing!” Grayson told her. “Look, the rest of us were praying that Vince Carlton was going to get the show revived. He might still do it. He’ll be there. Marnie, come on. Yes, it’s a fan convention. It’s where artists strut their stuff. It’s where we can, at the very least, make some survival money. I’m sure you told Cara that you would come. It was going to be our first time attending. Please, Marnie. It’s this weekend coming up.”
“And you didn’t mention it at the funeral, or after—”
“It is after right now.”
Marnie tried to remember if she had told Cara she would attend some kind of a monster show. Obviously, since Dark Harbor had been filled with all kinds of creatures, they were more than welcome at a horror convention of any kind.
She didn’t tell Grayson, but she’d been to one of the Horror-palooza shows before. She’d loved it. Hollywood’s special effects people came out in full force. It was amazing to see what shows were coming out soon, what was the new take on an old spook, and just what was being done with prosthetics and makeup.
“I don’t know if the cops will let me go,” she said.
“It’s a free country. They can’t stop you.”
“Yeah? Well, Grayson, I do not want to die.”
“Oh, Marnie. What happened was horrible. But I don’t intend to go the rest of my life being afraid every second. To be honest, I can’t afford it.”
Grayson was a good-looking man and a decent actor, too. Marnie had heard vague rumors he wasn’t doing as well as he could have been because of substance abuse and a work ethic that made it appear he saw his call times as suggestions rather than when to be there, camera ready.
He’d been fine to work with on Dark Harbor. She had no intention of judging Grayson’s current work ethic. She didn’t know what was rumor and what was truth.
“Marnie, please. Oh, my God—haven’t you seen the magazine covers everywhere? Right at this moment—very, very sadly because of Cara being murdered—we’re about the hottest thing in the world.”
“Let me check with...”
Her voice trailed off. It wasn’t the police. The police were great, but they didn’t have the manpower or budget to watch over her endlessly.
“Let me get back to you,” she said.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. You’ve got that guy hanging around. The son of the old movie stars—the dead stars. Hey, you think he’s just hanging around because he wants some kind of a Hollywood in now?”
Marnie laughed. “No.”
“Good to hear you laugh. With all that’s happened, and a dead body in your pool.”